


Human Complexity

by lady_needless_litany



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Don't copy to another site, F/M, Light Angst, Mostly Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-29 23:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17817497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_needless_litany/pseuds/lady_needless_litany
Summary: Christopher Pike, his ship, and his crew hadn't caught a break in what seemed like eons. It didn't help that there was one person that was constantly worrying him.





	Human Complexity

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place the day after the events of 2.04 _An Obol for Charon_ and written before I watched 2.05 - so if this doesn't fit with the show's timeline, that's why!

The seven signals, the Red Angel, the search for Spock. Sentient beings, of both the hostile and benevolent varieties. A missing crew member.

All in all, the _Discovery_ hadn’t caught a break since Christopher had taken command. It was a reality that he physically, viscerally felt—if he moved too quickly, his ribs still ached, and he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in eons.

His ready room was a sanctum of sorts, a place for him to gather his thoughts. He often found himself standing by the window, as he was then, looking into the colours of the warp bubble or into the blazing depths of space, depending on what the ship was doing.

A chime interrupted his mental wanderings. “Commander Burnham,” the computer announced.

“Let her in,” he instructed, taking a seat behind his desk.

Then she was there, in front of him. Without speaking, he gestured at the chair opposite him. She sat, back perfectly straight, hands folded in her lap.

Though she maintained her consummate professionalism, her voice betrayed her exhaustion. “You wanted to speak to me, Captain?”

He vaguely recalled asking her to drop in at the start of her next shift. Given the state of both of them, he almost regretted it. She hadn’t had any time to properly process the previous day’s events: Saru, Tilly, the sphere. It had been a trying enough for him, let alone for her, at the epicentre of it all; his heart went out to her, although he was sure that she wouldn’t approve of such folly.

That, of course, was why he wanted to speak to her. “I guess I just wanted to check in with you.”

She tilted her head. “In what way?”

“In every way.” Christopher winced, internally. He sounded like a bumbling buffoon to his own ears, let alone to Burnham’s. “I know that we spoke yesterday, but that was brief. There’s a lot going on right now and an unfair amount of it is falling onto you.”

“While I thank you for your consideration, I can’t help thinking your concern is unwarranted.”

Christopher was willing to admit that he was slightly in awe of Michael, of her intelligence and her passion and her diligence. Somewhat more reluctantly, he would admit that some of that awe translated into attraction. It was completely inappropriate, of course; he knew that, which was why he wasn’t about to act on the emotions.

Her only shortcoming—that he saw, at any rate—was her complete inability to spare a thought for her own wellbeing. She was fiercely empathetic and endlessly caring for those around her, but she seemed incapable of extending that care to herself.

“With all due respect, Burnham,” he replied. “We both know that’s bullshit.”

She pressed her lips together. “It has been stressful lately,” she began. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have to handle it. Especially not alone.”

It was in her nature to argue, though here she did so gently, aware of his good intentions. “I’m not alone. The crew are very supportive, and you and Amanda are involved regarding Spock.”

“Sure. But-”

When he fell silent, she prompted him. “Sir?”

He continued reluctantly. “I couldn’t help noticing that Amanda left rather abruptly.”

“Yes, she did.”

He waved one hand, indicating that she should elaborate.

“I-” Michael sighed. “We had a disagreement, of sorts.”

She made it sound so trivial, yet he was convinced that it wasn’t. “About Spock?” he questioned. “I thought we were all in agreement there.”

Uncharacteristically, she was growing restless, fidgety. “Yes, it was about Spock. Our family relationships have always been complicated. Amanda had never known why Spock and I are so disconnected. When she found out… I believe she felt betrayed.”

He had a feeling that he’d get no more out of her. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to know or that he thought it wasn’t important, simply that he sensed that intrusion was an ineffective, not to mention unkind, tactic. “Look, unless you want to share, that’s none of my business.”

Her expression remained serious, but something about her lightened. “I appreciate you respecting my privacy.”

There was something about that statement that was utterly Michael, something that brought a smile to his face. “It’s the least I can do.”

Impulsively, he leant forward and took her hand, covering it with both of his. She stiffened, subtly, and he noticed. He winced internally, lamenting his poor instincts. _You’ve made your bed, lie in it. Don’t bottle it now. That would be worse._

Outwardly, he remained more composed. “If you ever need anything… I’m here to support you. As and when you need it.”

“That’s-” Michael cut herself off, not entirely sure of what to say.

He realised that her discomfort at their physical contact would only exacerbate that. Releasing her hand, he moved backwards. He met her gaze frankly. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

“It’s not a problem, sir,” she replied. There was an unusual emphasis on the ‘sir’, as if she sought to remind both of them of their context.

“Still,” he muttered. There was one more pressing thing, which he gladly seized upon to propel them past the awkwardness. Since he’d arrived, Lorca hadn’t ceased to haunt him; how could he not, when there was reservation in the eyes of every crew member onboard? “Do you trust me, Burnham?”

“Of course.”

“Really?” Christopher said, steadily meeting her gaze. “It’s just that this crew is, understandably, hard to read. Particularly you. I thought I might as well come out and ask.”

She took a second to gather her thoughts before she replied. “It’s difficult to be sure of anyone or anything.”

Not an unexpected answer. “I can understand.”

“It’s not a ‘no’, though.”

“Thank you for being honest.”

“Honesty is usually logical.”

There were times when she sounded precisely like Spock, to the degree where he had to remind himself that he was on the _Discovery,_ not the _Enterprise_. He found himself nodding at her words. “I know. Still. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

“My statement stands; if you need me, you know where to find me.” Christopher felt ridiculous saying something so earnest, so cliché, even if it was true. On another day, he fancied it would get an amused eye-roll out of her.

As it was, she just worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “Indeed.”

“In that case, you’re dismissed, Commander.”

She nodded once, in acknowledgement, then stood. For a moment, it seemed like she was about to say something, but then she stopped herself and turned sharply on her heel. The doors slid closed behind her with a decisive _whoosh_.

Once more alone in the silence of his ready room, he slumped in his chair, cursing himself. _We were so close_ , he said to himself, accusingly. There was a certain aspect of guilt to it, knowing how much she needed support, even if she wouldn't admit it. _She was beginning to open up. And then you blew it!_


End file.
